Chapter 12: The Cream Revelation
The scent hit Ashur first as he nudged the bedroom door open, heavy and cloying, a thick sweetness that overlaid the usual incense and ozone-hum from the aquarium. Cold cream. Not the lotion kind. The culinary kind. Rich, fatty, dense. It filled the air like fog. Then came the sound: wet, desperate gulping, punctuated by muffled, breathless giggles.
Ashur froze mid-step, his hand still on the doorknob. Golden eyes widened, pupils dilating instantly, taking in the scene illuminated by the soft glow of the saltwater tank casting rippling blue patterns on the walls.
Ling lay sprawled naked across the expanse of black silk sheets. The moonlight filtering through the gap in the curtains caught the pale sheen of his skin, the long cascade of his black hair fanned out like ink. But it was his belly that commanded attention. It was no longer just a soft curve straining cashmere. It was a distinct, plush dome, resting heavily on his lap, the skin stretched taut and smooth over its gentle swell. It jiggled, a lazy, mesmerizing undulation… in time with the vigorous movements of his throat.
He had a large, glass bottle clutched in both hands, tilted almost vertically towards his mouth. Heavy cream. The kind Ashur used for making ganache. Thick, white rivulets escaped the corners of Ling’s lips, tracing paths down his chin, his neck, dripping onto the swell of his chest, pooling in the hollow between his pecs. His green eyes were half-lidded, unfocused, glazed with a mix of intense concentration and something else… a wild, almost delirious abandon. Gulp. Gulp. The sounds were primal, greedy. His little body shuddered with each desperate swallow, the plush mound of his belly bouncing rhythmically.
And lower down, one pale hand wasn't idle. It was buried between his own thighs, moving with lazy, self-indulgent strokes over his flushed cock. Not frantic. Not desperate. Luxurious. Possessive. Each slow pull of his fist coincided with a particularly deep gulp, another choked giggle bubbling up past the cream filling his mouth. The giggles were breathless, slightly drunken, utterly uninhibited. A jarring, beautiful counterpoint to the obscene act of consumption.
Ashur’s own breath stopped. His knuckles were white on the doorknob. He felt the familiar, primal pull deep in his gut – the possessive hunger, the fierce pride in seeing his Little Bird like this. But it was mixed with something new, something deeper and hotter, ignited by the sheer audacious ownership Ling displayed. This wasn't passive feeding. This was Ling, claiming his own pleasure, his own appetite, his own body, with a shamelessness Ashur hadn't dared dream he’d ever see. The lingering fear, the ghost of hospital sterility and fragile ribs, evaporated like mist before a bonfire.
"My perfect Little Bird," Ashur breathed, the words a low, guttural growl that vibrated in the thick air. He didn’t move from the doorway, transfixed. "Look at you."
Ling’s eyes snapped open, focusing with visible effort. He pulled the bottle away from his lips with a wet pop, a thick stream of cream spilling over his chin and onto his trembling lower belly. He blinked, a slow, languid movement, then a wide, unfiltered grin spread across his flushed face. "Ashur!" he giggled, the sound thick with cream and pure, unadulterated delight. He didn't try to cover himself. Didn't stop the lazy motion of his hand between his legs. "You're back! Look!" He sloshed the bottle slightly, the heavy liquid moving sluggishly inside the glass. "Found it in the fridge. It’s so good." He took another loud, deliberate gulp, his throat working, his belly jiggling emphatically. Cream dripped steadily onto the silk sheets.
Ashur finally stepped fully into the room, closing the door softly behind him. He moved slowly, deliberately, like a predator circling something both precious and dangerous. His golden eyes never left Ling, roving over the glistening trails on his skin, the proud, full swell of his stomach, the unabashed pleasure on his face. He stopped at the edge of the bed.
"You... you've embraced it," Ashur murmured, his voice rough with an intensity that bordered on reverence. He reached out, his fingers hovering just above the taut curve of Ling’s belly, not quite touching. "The cravings." His gaze flicked down to Ling’s hand, still moving slowly on his cock, then back to his face, holding Ling’s glazed green eyes. "So greedy."
Ling giggled again, a sound like shattering glass and honey. "Mmhmm," he hummed, licking cream from his upper lip with a slow swipe of his tongue. He arched his back slightly, pushing his belly out even more towards Ashur’s hovering hand, his own hand pausing its stroking to rest possessively on the plush swell. "Feels amazing. So full. Wanted... wanted to feel really full." He took another deep pull from the bottle, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss as the cold, rich liquid hit his stomach. The resulting ripple across his belly made Ashur’s fingers twitch. "And... and this," Ling murmured, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, his green eyes opening, locking onto Ashur’s with startling clarity amidst the intoxication. His hand resumed its slow, deliberate strokes. "Feels good too. Didn't... didn't feel much before. Too thin. Too cold. Feels warm now." He bit his lip, a shyness momentarily flickering before being swallowed by another wave of shameless pleasure. "Like... like you touching me. But... but I'm touching me."
Ashur’s restraint snapped. He sank onto the edge of the bed, the silk sighing beneath him. His hand finally landed, not tentatively, but firmly, possessively, on the warm, taut dome of Ling’s belly. The skin was cool where cream had splashed, warm and yielding beneath. He felt the incredible solidity, the sheer mass Ling had become. He pressed gently, feeling the incredible resistance, the profound fullness pushing back against his palm. A low groan escaped him, part awe, part pure, unadulterated lust. "So beautiful," he rasped. "So fucking perfect, Xiao. Look what you've done." His thumb found the distinct outward curve of Ling’s navel, still prominent even under this new, astonishing fullness, and rubbed slow circles over it. "You've become everything."
Ling whimpered, a high-pitched sound of pure sensation. He dropped the heavy cream bottle onto the bed beside him with a thud, ignoring the sticky spill. His free hand flew up, tangling in Ashur’s messy golden hair, pulling him down. "Kiss me," he demanded, his voice thick with cream and desire. "Taste it."
Ashur didn't hesitate. He leaned in, capturing Ling’s cream-smeared lips in a deep, hungry kiss. The taste was overwhelming – cold, cloying sweetness, the fatty richness of the cream, and underneath it, the unique, addictive taste of Ling. Ashur groaned into Ling’s mouth, his hand still pressing firmly on the incredible swell of Ling’s belly, feeling it rise and fall with their mingled breaths. Ling’s hand resumed its stroking between his legs, faster now, more urgent, his moans vibrating against Ashur’s lips. Ashur broke the kiss, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down Ling’s sticky chin, his neck, following the glistening trails of cream. He reached the soft curve where belly met ribcage, the skin trembling under his lips. He pressed his face against the incredible, warm swell, inhaling the scent of cream and Ling’s skin, the faint salt of sweat. He licked a long, slow stripe through a spilled rivulet of cream on the taut skin. Ling cried out, his back arching sharply off the bed, his hand moving frantically.
"Ashur... please..."
Ashur lifted his head, his own breathing ragged, his golden eyes burning with possessive fire. He watched Ling’s face contort in ecstasy, watched his hand work, watched the magnificent, cream-slicked swell of his belly quiver with each frantic movement. He placed his own large hand over Ling’s smaller one where it gripped his cock, not stopping him, but covering it, guiding the pace, adding pressure. Ling’s eyes flew open, wide and startled, meeting Ashur’s intense gaze.
"Mine," Ashur growled, the single word thick with absolute possession, a counterpoint to Ling’s earlier assertion of self. "You did this. You made yourself this... this miracle. But you're mine. Every inch." His hand tightened over Ling’s, forcing his strokes deeper, harder. "Show me. Show me how good it feels. Now."
Ling’s gasp turned into a sharp cry, high and desperate. His eyes rolled back, his body stiffened, the immense curve of his belly seeming to hold its breath for a suspended second. Then he shattered. His release pulsed hot over their joined hands, his whole body convulsing, a long, broken sob tearing from his throat as the waves crashed through him. His belly trembled violently beneath Ashur’s other hand, still pressed possessively against it.
Ashur watched, mesmerized, as Ling rode out the shudders, his cries softening into whimpers, his body collapsing bonelessly back onto the silk. Cream smeared everywhere – on his skin, on Ashur’s hand, on the sheets. The heavy scent filled the humid air. Ling lay panting, utterly spent, his green eyes dazed, fixed on the ceiling. Ashur slowly withdrew his hands. He looked down at his palm, sticky with Ling’s release and streaks of cold cream. He brought it to his lips, his gaze never leaving Ling’s flushed, blissed-out face, and slowly, deliberately, licked it clean.
Ling watched him, a fresh shiver running through him that had nothing to do with the cooling air. Ashur lowered his hand, leaning over him again. He planted a soft, lingering kiss on the very peak of Ling’s rounded, sticky belly. "My perfect, greedy Little Bird," he murmured, the words vibrating against the sensitive skin. "Look at what you've become."
Ling reached out a trembling, sticky hand, touching Ashur’s cheek. His thumb brushed the corner of Ashur’s eye and came away wet. Ashur hadn’t even noticed the single, hot tear that had escaped. Ling stared at the moisture on his thumb, then back at Ashur’s face, seeing the raw, unguarded emotion there – pride, possessiveness, awe, and something deeper, fiercer, that looked terrifyingly like devotion.
"Ashur?" Ling whispered, his voice hoarse.
Ashur captured Ling’s sticky hand, kissing the palm where his tear had landed. He didn't speak. He just held Ling's gaze in the shifting blue light, the smell of cream and sex thick around them, the immense, warm swell of Ling's belly rising and falling steadily between them, a silent, undeniable monument to transformation. Ling’s eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion and satiation pulling him under. As his breathing deepened into sleep, Ashur remained, his hand resting gently on the incredible curve, feeling the life, the warmth, the undeniable thereness of his Little Bird, finally, gloriously unbound. The aquarium hummed, a constant thrum in the sweet, heavy dark.
The aquarium hummed, a constant thrum in the sweet, heavy dark. Ling’s breathing, deep and even now, ruffled a stray strand of black hair stuck to his damp forehead. Ashur remained kneeling beside the bed, one hand resting possessively on the immense, warm curve of Ling’s belly, rising and falling gently with each slumbering breath. The blue light painted shifting patterns across the cream-smeared skin, the sticky trails glistening. Ashur traced the prominent bump of Ling’s navel with a feather-light fingertip, then let his palm spread wide, trying to encompass the sheer, breathtaking swell. It was solid. Warm. Alive. A low vibration, almost a purr, started deep in his own chest.
Hours bled away marked only by the aquarium’s drone and Ling’s soft sighs. Ashur didn’t move, watching the subtle shifts. The moonlight through the gap in the curtains crawled across the floor. Then, a change. A faint, internal gurgle. Then another, louder, a liquid grumble emanating from the depths beneath his palm. Ling stirred, a soft moan escaping his parted lips. His brow furrowed in his sleep, a flicker of discomfort crossing his peaceful face. Ashur’s hand pressed slightly, feeling the movement within, the subtle churn and shift. He held his breath.
Ling’s eyes fluttered open, green irises clouded with sleep and confusion. He blinked, focusing slowly on Ashur’s face, then his gaze drifted down his own body. His hand, sticky, moved slowly to rest beside Ashur’s on his belly. His fingers flexed against the taut skin. A deeper rumble vibrated through him. "Ugh," he groaned, his voice thick and sleep-roughened. "Ashur... feels... weird. Heavy." His fingers pressed tentatively into the yielding swell. "Gurgly."
"It’s working, sweetling," Ashur murmured, his voice rough with suppressed intensity. His thumb resumed its slow orbit around the navel bump. "All that beautiful cream. Settling." He watched Ling’s face, seeing the dawning awareness, the slight pinch of discomfort warring with the lingering haze of satiation. Another internal slosh, more audible this time. Ling winced, his hand pressing harder.
"Too much?" Ashur asked, the question taut.
Ling shook his head slowly, swallowing. "Not... not too much. Just... full. Really full." He shifted slightly on the silk sheets, trying to find a comfortable position. The movement caused his belly to wobble, a distinct, heavy jiggle. He looked down again, truly seeing it in the dim light without the haze of cream and climax. His green eyes widened. "Ashur... it’s..." He trailed off, his free hand smoothing over the immense curve, exploring the unfamiliar landscape. "Bigger." The word was a whisper, part disbelief, part awe. It wasn’t a question.
Ashur’s sinful smirk returned, slow and triumphant, as his golden eyes drank in the sight. "Yeah, Little Bird. It is." His hand slid lower, tracing the lower curve where belly met pelvis, feeling the incredible tension in the skin. "Look at you. Just... look." The sheer mass was undeniable now, a soft, heavy shelf resting on his lap, pushing his thighs apart. The skin, once pale and smooth, had a stretched, almost luminous quality under the blue light, faint pink marks beginning to bloom like secret constellations near his hips and the underside of the curve. It dominated him.
Ling took a slow, deep breath, his belly swelling further against Ashur’s palm, stretching the skin impossibly tighter. He whimpered softly at the intense pressure. "It... it feels tight," he breathed, his voice trembling slightly. "Like... like it’s still..." He stopped, another deep gurgle interrupting him, a long, liquid churn that made his whole middle tremble visibly. He gasped, his back arching minutely off the bed. Ashur could feel the internal surge, the relentless expansion pushing outward against his restraining hand. Ling’s fingers dug into Ashur’s wrist. "Ashur! It’s... it’s moving!"
"Shh, shh, I know," Ashur soothed, his voice low and thrilled. He leaned closer, his lips brushing Ling’s temple. "It’s just the cream, Xiao. Working its magic." His other hand joined the first, both palms now pressed firmly against the straining mound, feeling the incredible force beneath. "Just breathe through it. Let it happen." He could feel the heat intensifying, the sheer metabolic furnace burning within Ling’s compact frame. The faint pink marks seemed to deepen as they watched. Another ripple passed under Ashur’s hands, stronger this time, a visible wave traveling upwards. Ling cried out, a short, sharp sound of overwhelming sensation. His belly seemed to breathe, expanding another fraction, rounding out further, pushing Ashur’s resisting hands slightly apart. The lower curve now pressed heavily against his own hardening cock, trapped beneath the immense weight.
"Holy... shit..." Ling panted, staring down at himself, eyes wide with a mix of terror and fascination. He was huge. Monumental. The proud swell from the dining room feast seemed laughable now. This was something else entirely. A soft, round planet of flesh, utterly dominating his slight frame, the skin pulled drum-tight over its immense girth. He tentatively poked his own navel, now a deep, pronounced outie. "It’s... it’s like it’s not even me anymore." His voice was small.
Ashur chuckled, a dark, possessive sound. He slid one hand up to cradle the underside of the tremendous swell, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin where belly met ribs. "Oh, it’s you, Little Bird. All you." His other hand smoothed over the very peak, feeling the incredible warmth. "Just... more. So much more." His gaze raked over the sheer expanse, the way it crowded Ling’s slender hips, dwarfed his narrow chest. "Perfect." The word was a reverent sigh.
Ling managed a shaky, breathless laugh, the movement making his belly wobble like slow-set jelly. "Perfectly enormous, you mean." He tried to shift again, a grunt escaping him as the weight settled differently, pressing insistently on his bladder. "Geez, Ash. How... how much cream was in that bottle?" He looked genuinely bewildered, his hand still exploring the vast, warm curve, tracing the new stretch marks with tentative fingertips.
"Enough," Ashur murmured, his golden eyes alight with a fierce, primal satisfaction. He leaned down, pressing his lips not to Ling’s mouth, but to the very center of the straining mound. He lingered, feeling the heat, the faint vibrations within, the sheer impossible thereness of it. "And you took it all. Every drop." He lifted his head, meeting Ling’s dazed gaze. His smirk widened, wicked and promising. "But you’re not finished, are you? Not even close." His hand drifted lower, skimming the sensitive skin just above where Ling’s trapped cock throbbed against the immense, warm pressure resting upon it. "This?" Ashur’s voice dropped to a husky whisper, resonant in the humming dark. "This is just the beginning."
The hum of the aquarium filled the sticky silence, a low thrum beneath the thick scent of cream and sex. Ashur’s golden eyes, molten in the shifting blue light, held Ling’s dazed gaze. His smirk deepened at Ling’s bewildered question about the cream. "Enough," he repeated, the word a velvet promise. His hand, resting near the immense lower curve of Ling’s belly where it pressed heavily against Ling’s trapped cock, began to move. Not away. Down.
His fingertips brushed the sensitive skin just above the base of Ling’s erection, trapped and throbbing beneath the incredible, suffocating weight of his own distended stomach. Ashur’s touch was a deliberate scrape of calloused skin. Ling gasped, a sharp intake of breath that made his belly tremble. "Ash—"
"Shh," Ashur murmured, his voice dropping to a husky register that vibrated in Ling’s bones. "Just feel it, Little Bird." His gaze never wavered from Ling’s face as his fingers slid lower, tracing the rigid length trapped beneath the warm, yielding mass. It was hot. Hard. Pinned. Ashur’s large hand curled, not around it directly, but under the immense swell. His palm pressed upwards, lifting the heavy curve just enough. The movement forced Ling’s trapped cock, slick with his own earlier release, to rub firmly against the taut, overheated skin of his own lower belly.
The sensation was immediate, overwhelming. A bolt of pure, shocking friction sparked up Ling’s spine. "Oh! Oh god!" he choked out, his back arching involuntarily. The immense weight shifted, a slow, heavy roll that pressed his cock harder against his slick belly skin as Ashur maintained the upward pressure. "It's... it's too much!" Ling cried, but his hands flew to Ashur’s wrist, fingers digging in, pulling it closer, not pushing it away. His hips made a tiny, desperate jerk, seeking more of that impossible friction against himself. "Ashur!"
Ashur watched, enraptured, as Ling thrashed his head against the silk, green eyes wide and wild. The blue light caught the sheen of sweat and drying cream on his flushed skin, the desperate clench of his jaw. "Look at you," Ashur breathed, voice thick with awe and dark satisfaction. He increased the pressure of his palm beneath the belly, subtly grinding Ling’s trapped erection against the stretched, sensitive skin. "Rutting against yourself. Using that perfect belly I gave you." He leaned closer, his lips brushing Ling’s ear. "Is it good, sweetling? Does it feel good? All that heat? All that pressure? All you?"
Ling couldn’t form words. Moans tumbled from him, broken sounds muffled by his own arm flung across his mouth. His body was a frantic contrast – pinned immobile from the waist down by the sheer mass of his stomach, yet writhing from the hips up, caught in the agonizing pleasure Ashur was orchestrating. Each subtle shift of Ashur’s hand beneath the immense weight created a new wave of sensation: the hot drag of his cock against his own taut skin, the incredible fullness pressing down, the yielding softness meeting rigid hardness. His free hand scrabbled at the sheets, then flew to his own belly, fingers splaying over the stretched surface as if trying to anchor himself against the onslaught.
"Made yourself so big," Ashur continued, the sinful purr back in his voice, relentless. "So round. So soft and heavy." His thumb found Ling’s navel, now a deep, prominent outie, and pressed firmly, circling the tight rim. Ling shrieked, the sound high and ragged. "Perfect for this. Perfect for feeling everything." Ashur watched the trembling peak of Ling’s belly, the frantic flutter of his ribs as he fought for breath. He saw the exact moment the tension coiled beyond bearing, the moment Ling’s eyes squeezed shut, his mouth forming a silent scream. Ashur pressed his palm up harder, grinding Ling relentlessly against himself. "Come on, Xiao," he growled, the command vibrating against Ling’s sweat-slicked temple. "Show me again. Show me how greedy you are. Come against your own perfect belly."
Ling shattered. A guttural cry tore from his throat, raw and primal. His entire body convulsed, back bowing off the bed in a violent arc, muscles straining like cables. The immense swell of his belly clenched visibly, a hard spasm rolling through the taut skin beneath Ashur’s hand. Heat pulsed against Ashur’s palm where he pressed it upwards, trapped between belly and cock, as Ling came again, untouched except by the crushing, exquisite friction Ashur had orchestrated against his own transformed body. It was a release born of impossible pressure and overwhelming sensation, shaking him to his core.
He collapsed, boneless, gasping like a landed fish. The only sound was his ragged breathing and the aquarium’s hum. Ashur slowly, carefully, withdrew his supporting hand. The immense weight settled back fully, a soft, heavy sigh against Ling’s spent cock and thighs. Ashur leaned over him, his gaze tracing the utter wreckage – the flushed skin, the tear tracks mingling with cream, the rise and fall of the monumental belly that seemed even more pronounced in Ling’s limp exhaustion. He brushed damp black hair from Ling’s forehead.
"Beautiful," Ashur murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of Ling’s kiss-swollen bottom lip. Ling’s eyes fluttered open, hazy green depths reflecting the blue light and pure, stunned overwhelm. He tried to speak, but only a faint whimper emerged. Ashur’s sinful smirk returned, sharp and knowing. He dipped his head, licking a slow stripe up a streak of cream drying on the impossibly tight curve near Ling’s ribs. Ling trembled. "Rest now, Little Bird," Ashur whispered against the heated skin. His hand settled possessively back on the crest of Ling’s belly, feeling the deep, slow thrum of life within. "Just rest." He watched Ling’s eyelids grow heavy, succumb to exhaustion. Ashur’s golden eyes gleamed in the dimness, fixed on the gentle, sleeping swell. His other hand drifted lower, fingertips barely skimming the sensitive, stretched skin where Ling’s cock lay trapped and softening beneath the warm, conquering weight. The humming silence deepened.